Depression

I want to explain it. How I really feel. But whenever I try to I am overcome with fear. Please don’t judge me for what I’m about to say. It’s not my fault I feel this way.
Depression is like a giant black hole. You’re sucked in and you can’t get out. All the light has diminished and you’re left in the dark searching for something that you can’t grasp.
You want to ask for help; but hate being a burden. Every time you talk to someone you get the same feeling. The same answer too. ‘You shouldn’t feel this way, you’re privileged and spoiled.’ You get called attention seeking, a liar and you’re a nobody to yourself and a no one to them. And the black hole is closing in.
You teeter on the edge of a cliff and some of us fall off. You’re hanging onto a branch trying to stop your fall. Every day you see people drop. They walked the fine line and crossed to the other side. And you want to jump but you’re scared to die. Because even though she flew she was dying inside.
And you don’t know whether you want to jump and end it all or jump and find it all. And you’re questioning the difference between the two.
Depression is waking up in the morning and wishing you didn’t. It’s living a life you just want to end. And you’re alive. Your heart beats and you breathe, and everything works except you. You see all your flaws. You’re not as skinny as her, not as beautiful, not as smart. Everyone is better then you and your cold heart.
People talk of monsters and you can only think of yourself. And how the monsters are telling you how the story ends. They’re in your nightmares; they’re in your dreams. The monsters are inside of me.
And for a moment you think you’re the only one. But then you see your friends and how they’re only just holding on. Except when they fall they pick themselves up, dust themselves off and move on. But you can’t do it, you never could. And you’re jealous of their ability to let go. Because when you fall you’re stuck on the floor. And as they fly back to the top of the cliff you try your hardest to break the binds. But they bind your soul and they bind your heart, and you’re stuck in the same place you always were. Brocken and shattered on the floor. Broken and cold in the dark.
And that’s all it is. The dark. The dark corner of your mind, the dark corner of your very existence. Your life is moulded to the nightmares of children. And it hurts to know that’s all you’ll ever be.
That’s what depression is. Not some walk in the park. It’s lonely and it’s scary. You want nothing more than to get away. You want nothing more than to end the pain.
I’m sorry if this confronted you; I just needed to get it off my chest. Is it obvious now that I feel depressed?